Errand
by Toff
Summary: Cosette is out and about in Paris for the very first time without Jean Valjean. She's got a letter to give to it's rightful owner. Who sends a letter with no address on it? WIP. Rated out of excess of caution.
1. Prologue

_I was looking through my story files yesterday, and I realized I had written mostly ficlets and no stories with chapters! The only multi-chapter stories I've written are really collections of, well, ficlets. And don't even mention my last attempt at multi-chaptered! I decided to try my hand at this for a few reasons: I have all the time in the world (school's out!), it would be a good exercise in patience for me, and I'm rather fond of this story idea. Enjoy!_

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Prologue

Jean Valjean watched his only daughter dart happily down the front steps and into the hall, nearly blowing over the statue of the Lord as it sat precariously on it's wooden perch. He heard her laughter as she attempted the complicated system of locks with which he had secured the door. Valjean heard her yell as she found the locks too difficult. Finally, she wrenched open the door and slammed it behind her. If Valjean had been going with her, he would not have permitted this method of closing the door- he wished to draw as little attention to his residence as possible- but the girl was alone for the very first time and inclined to go about things in her own way.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to send Cosette into Paris so soon by herself. Valjean knew that many gamins and gamines had been wandering about the city nearly their entire lives, but his Cosette was a special type of girl. She was very far from stupid- Valjean was amazed at the speed at which she read. Still, these books couldn't prepare Cosette for what lay beyond the Rue de Babylone. She read only "safe" novels and treatises on flora that Valjean passed along to her after first checking them over.

The girl was not stupid; the girl was innocent. The two are like night and day. They are night and day except for one unfortunate similarity: the stupid and the innocent are susceptible to trickery and smooth talking. Valjean could only pray that his daughter would be suddenly supplied with a sudden wealth of knowledge about who and what was dangerous for a delicate little flower like his rose of a Cosette.

At least she was out with a specific task. Cosette had been asked to deliver a piece of mail to a girl named Mlle. Ursula. Valjean had found the billet-doux in the letter-box the day before. He had thought it a mistake; the little family knew no one who might send them a letter. As a result, Valjean had placed the letter back in the box as soon as he read the name assuming the address to be on the other side. Who would send him a billet- doux? Valjean chuckled through his worries at the very idea.

He had it in his mind to take off after her and deliver it with her, or better yet send her home. Paris was no place for a girl so delicate. Valjean would have been on foot seconds after she left had it not been for Toussaint.

"F-forgive me if I'm out of p-place," she stuttered as Valjean paced at the window, watching Cosette become a speck in the distance. "B-but l- leave her b-be, s-sir."

It was unfortunate for Valjean that not only was Cosette was already so far gone that he would never be able to find her, but that Toussaint was right.

"S-she w-won't be y-yours forever."

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_This, being the prologue, is going to be much different from the other chapters. The others will be Cosette's viewpoint, and the style may be a little different. I'm going for something on the lighter side. Please don't get upset that I am referring to Cosette as Valjean's daughter. I know very well how it goes, but they have a relationship that's exactly the same as any normal loving father and daughter, so I think it fits. Thanks for reading! _


	2. Beauty and the Beast

_Thank you all for the reviews! Actually, AmZ, I thought of the exact same thing last night. You're right. I just hope everyone will look over the error- I just hope it's not too glaring._

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Cosette's skirts swayed as she hugged herself. She could see Valjean in the upstairs window. It was a thrill to be on the outside looking in! 

"Oh, I'm sure Papa is very proud," Cosette exclaimed. "Look at his Cosette- no longer a little girl!"

Cosette paused her celebration for a moment as she wondered which course to take. To her left the Rue de Babylone lead to an upper-class quarter, with all it's opulence. Cosette was decently certain that this was the "right" part of town. To her right, The Rue De Babylone wound about in seemingly random directions, slowly becoming more and more disheveled until it became one and the same with the "wrong" part of town. Cosette had gone to the left many, many times, but she had never been to the right. She'd never been allowed.

"Well, Ursula," the girl yelled, thinking herself alone on the street. "Watch out for Cosette!"

Much to the chagrin of Valjean in the window, Cosette took the greater of the two evils, turning to the right and proceeding on her way. She felt as if she was ready to take on anything- anything at all! Be it rain, be it thunder, be it-

"Care for a ride, Cosette?" The voice was rough, but not harsh.

Cosette immediately burst into tears. "How did you know my name?" She sobbed, reaching for her lace handkerchief.

"You were yelling and raising all sorts of Hell," chuckled the man.

Cosette, shocked at the curse, dried her tears and looked up at the mysterious voice to find out that he was a very shabby man in an equally shabby carriage. At one time, the carriage he rode in may have been the height of grandeur. The body, once a beautiful, shiny black, was reduced to a chipping grey mass of holes and cracks. Cosette, in her mind, likened it to a shadow. It was a mere echo of it's former splendor.

The horse attached to it had never been the height of anything. He was a minute thing, though old, and stubborn. Cosette immediately noticed his overall lack of fur and horrible smell. The man himself shared many qualities with his horse, among them his shabbiness. It seemed that everything this man touched immediately turned to tatters.

He extended his moth bitten glove to Cosette, who was still gawking at the horse.

"Don't mind him," said the man. "Billy don't bite."

"Billy?" asked Cosette. "That's not a real name!" She was becoming increasingly angry at this mysterious man. He scared her, and now he was trying to trick her!

"Is too," said the man, as though talking to an unruly child. "If you're in England, it is."

"England!' exclaimed Cosette. She adored the England described in her books, and the mere mention of something she loved so dearly made her feel much more at ease with the man. "Have you been? I've heard about Englishmen in books. They are kind and gentle men who treat their ladies with the utmost respect, and they are so very, very smart. Is that true? Whenever I try to talk about England to Papa, he always changes the subject to France-" She would have prattled on, but the man leaned close to her and laid two fingers on her lips.

"Shhh, my darling," whispered he, "Take a breath."

Cosette inhaled and exhaled very loudly.

"I've been to England many times," he whispered, in the same soothing way. "I'm English."

"English!" Cosette began, but once again she was shushed.

"Oh yes, Cosette," he continued. "I'm related to the king, you know. Why, he's my cousin!" The man had neglected to mention that he in fact was related to only crooks and brigands. He had also negleted to mention how his only cousin was a prostitute and that it was he who got her the job.

"Oh..." sighed Cosette. Though in reverie, her eyes wandered over to the letter writer across the street.

"Drat!" she screeched, destroying the moment. "I have a letter to deliver, and unless you know an Ursula, I must bid you good-bye."

"Ursula who?" he asked.

"'Ursula F.' is all it says," Cosette answered. "Do you know where I might find Ursula F.?"

"Oh yes, I know her," murmured the Englishman, thinking on his feet. "She lives across town."

"Ah, all right..." Cosette hadn't the slightest idea what to do next. It would be rude to ask the Englishman to give her a ride, but to truge across the city... "I'll...just be on my way, then, M'sieur." Cosette's tone was uncertain- where on Earth was "across town"? It was as cryptic as the letter.

"Climb inside, Mademoiselle," laughed the Englishman. "You don't think I would just leave you standing there? I am offended, Cosette!"

Cosette stood still for a moment. A million thoughts fought in her mind. Should she go? Shouldn't she go? What would Papa do?

_Papa says always give aid if you can_, Cosette thought to herself. _And this man appears to be terribly lonely..._

"You'd be doing me a service, mademoiselle," He said, as if he had read Cosette's thoughts. "Won't you help a fellow...a fellow in love?"

_In love? With me? Oh my!_ He had fulfilled Cosette's every fantasy with those few words.

Once more, he extended his hand to help her into the carriage. This time, she grasped it with a sigh.

"Thank you very much, Monsieur... Monsieur...oh, what is your name?" She only realized now that she hadn't gotten it.

"Just call me Walt."

As they sped down the winding Rue de Babylone, Cosette attempted to impress him with her few words of English. She was decently sure that they meant that the weather was nice.

"Oh, dear," she exclaimed, pointing to the clear blue sky. "It looks like rain."

_

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Flame if you want. To misquote Eliza Doolittle, I've never recieved a flame, not what you'd call a proper one!  
_


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